


Loneliness doesn't go away because it's Halloween, idiot

by agentlithium



Series: emotionally unstable holidays [1]
Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: M/M, Unrequited Love, but in the end it doesn't even matter, i tried so hard and got so far, im sorry nygmobblepot owns my ass now, matching costumes tho
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-30
Updated: 2016-10-30
Packaged: 2018-08-28 00:56:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8424391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agentlithium/pseuds/agentlithium
Summary: hi I can only do sad gobblepot bye





	

**Author's Note:**

> this is real short bc I've been busy as shit (but hey I also made a gramon thing a little bit ago go check that shit out its cute) but yeah happy halloween this is unbeta'd and bad

_Why the fuck am I here?_

The banquet hall was full of wealthy eccentrics in unbelievably complex costumes. They mingled about and stirred up a deafening cloud of idle chatter. The live band played songs fitting for the season. The vocalist had a nasally voice that was hard to listen to. Jim was standing off in the corner of the spacious room. He held a small plate with two meatballs, his salvation for the night, left on it. He had been silently snacking and waiting until an appropriate time to leave arose since he got here. The cheap vampire outfit he got his hands on was worth exactly what he paid for it. It was itchy, tight, and damn uncomfortable. He wanted so desperately to flee this hellscape of forced sociability. Nothing was keeping him here. Hell, he had no reason to be here, except that if he didn’t show, he could very possibly be escorted here at knifepoint. That, and he knew he would feel an immense amount of guilt if he skipped out on another simple request of attendance from the pathetic little criminal that now truly ran the city.

“A party?” he had asked.

"A Halloween party," said Oswald, in response to Jim’s inquiry. He failed to stifle the grin painting its way on his thin lips.

"I'm busy that weekend," Jim lied, averting his gaze from the pale eyes that surveyed him eagerly. Faint memories of the day, two years ago, when he turned down Oswald's invitation then, resurfaced. The day his club was to open. He was absolutely not in that situation again.

"Well, take the invitation at least. It's just a way to celebrate the season as well as me winning the mayoral election." Jim’s stomach churned. He had almost forgotten Cobblepot was now the mayor of Gotham. As if the city wasn't in enough shit as it was.

"Fine. I'm still not going," his voice dropped slightly. Oswald's smile was tight and impatient. Jim's pig-headedness was so fucking infuriating. If only he wasn't absolutely infatuated with the gorgeous stud of a bounty hunter. While Jim looked about uncomfortably, Oswald took a second to admire how good he looked in leather.

"Just keep me in mind if you find yourself with nothing to do this All Hallows' Eve." He was irritated, but pitifully hopeful.

"Alright, whatever," Jim huffed.

"Wonderful. Remember, costumes are mandatory. It's a fairly casual get-together. We'll have live music as well," he tried to sell the event to Jim to the best of his ability. He just couldn't break through such steely resentment. It was very discouraging.

"Whatever," Jim repeated. There was no way in hell he was putting on a costume of any sort, he thought. There was no way in hell he was going to this party. And yet there he was, at the very party he cursed so confidently in a stupid fucking costume. He thankfully didn’t see a soul he knew. He could just stand in place, eat, drink, make his presence somewhat known to the waddling megalomaniac, then split this bitch. After about 45 minutes, he was actually kind of having a good time, but that was probably the champagne making him feel just as bubbly. The only time he opened his mouth thus far was to thank one of the caterers for topping off the slowly diminishing amount of meatballs at the buffet. He would love to say not a thing more and carry on with nothing else passing his lips but food and alcohol. Oh god, he was turning into Harvey.

The band toned their obnoxious caterwauling down to instrumental white noise. Jim was still somewhat entertained by the ridiculous haircuts of some of the partygoers, but he was more than ready to leave. Fake blood was drying on his chin, turning pink thanks to the cheap dye. He had more than enough to eat over the course of the evening and he would prefer to continue drinking in the privacy of his own shitty apartment. He could just sneak out and avoid speaking to Oswald entirely. A gentle pat came down on his shoulder, followed by a voice that made him want to swan-dive from the top of a 10-story building.

“Jim! So wonderful it is to see you!” Oswald chirped. Begrudgingly, Jim turned around. If he wasn’t serious about killing himself before, he sure was now. He’s wearing the same fucking costume as me.

“Oh my! Well, one of us is going to have to change,” Oswald giggled in the most irritating way possible. They were dressed exactly the same. The only difference was the sharp eye makeup and false fangs Oswald sported.

“Though you’d be dressing up a bit more—”

“Extravagantly, perhaps? I was so busy with organizing this party and dealing with other matters that I had no time to spend on my costume. This is the best I could find at the party store, but it’s nice to see we have similar tastes,” he chuckled. Jim bared his teeth in a feigned grin. He was absolutely mortified.

“Yeah, nice,” he searched desperately for a way out of this conversation.

“It suits you much better, though. You make a very handsome vampire,” Oswald’s shy smile caused beads of sweat to form on Jim’s brow. He would actually pay for one of Gotham’s signature out-of-nowhere villains to show up and flip this party on its head. Anything to drag him away from this. Oswald’s obviously endearing gaze had the meatballs from earlier threatening to crawl back up his esophagus. Was Oswald a sadist for forcing Jim into such uncomfortable situations, or a masochist for nearly begging to receive constant rejection from his beloved. Perhaps, Jim was the masochist, or the sadist. Jim didn’t know and neither did Oswald, if he were to be honest.

“Thanks,” Jim cleared his throat. “U-Um, I was just about to go, actually. I have an early rise tomorrow. Busy day.” He wasn’t lying this time, but the sparkle in Oswald’s eyes fizzled out nonetheless.

“Oh, of course. Never a day off for Jim Gordon, I suppose.” Jim nodded, incredibly displeased with the almost accusing tone Oswald used.

“Yeah, uh… yeah,” he rubbed the back of his neck. Just before he broke into a sprint for the door, Jim paused. Oswald’s green eyes were cold, angry, and sad.

“Take care of yourself, Oswald.”

Then he was gone, sneaking through the crowd and disappearing into the night. So true to his costume too. Oswald snatched a glass of champagne from one of the waiters. It sloshed over the lip of its glass with the jerk of his arm, glistening gold running down his fingers. He took a deep, sharp breath in before sipping his champagne. This seemed like a bitter failure to all onlookers: a sad man vying for another’s attention. But for Oswald, this was a victory. Jim actually came, and in costume too!

As much as Jim would deny it, Oswald was slowly but surely burrowing his way under his skin and closer to his guarded heart. He would be in for some real hell come the Christmas party.


End file.
